


A Thousand Suns

by LusidDreamer



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Rating May Change, Tsundere no jutsu, and porn, maybe a bit of angst, probably fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5726587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LusidDreamer/pseuds/LusidDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deidara has recently been enlisted into Akatsuki, and even after a few months he's still sour over how easily he was defeated by Uchiha Itachi and his Sharingan. He feels like he's tried to get along with everyone (to some degree), but the aforementioned Uchiha is a closed book to him--not to mention, his confidence in his art has been suffering ever since.</p><p>Deciding that it's clearly Itachi's fault for undermining his precious work during that first fight, he's going to do whatever it takes to squeeze some recognition from the stoic Uchiha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stimulus

There he was. That Uchiha bastard, sitting across the table wearing a look that said 'I'm somewhere else, so don't bother'. His eyes were black at the moment, staring listlessly into a cup of tea. Upon closer inspection one would be enchanted to see they actually resembled a molten gunmetal more than onyx—and Deidara certainly _did_ inspect. Only natural, of course, for one with a healthy appreciation for aesthetics. Not that the boy was anything special, but...

 

From the moment he'd first beheld those eyes—radiant, piercing eyes—as a runaway Iwa shinobi, Deidara couldn't stand how his artistic ideals were scorned before the gifted gaze of this challenger. Art was supposed to be an ephemeral thing, an object of beauty vanishing in a blaze—no, an _explosion_ —of glory, but that accursed Sharingan made a mockery of everything he stood for, and with no apparent effort on the Uchiha's part. Manipulating at their talented owner's will, Deidara had been helpless, trapped in a web of crimson and gold that dared even to twist his very own creations, and yet...

... And yet as soon as it'd happened, it was over. What had only been an illusion from the offset was suddenly gone, and Deidara had come back to his senses to find that the Uchiha's glare was dark, stony as though nothing had just transpired. And was that not the most beautifully fleeting art? A mind-warping phantasm cast by kaleidoscope eyes, the otherworldly glow of which so many enemies must have witnessed, but none more than once? As though the humiliation of instant defeat wasn't bad enough, the worst betrayal in all this was that in his heart, he knew this creature was perfection incarnate. But how could that be, when it wasn't his own ideal?

 

Thus it was that Deidara was captured—forced to serve an organisation where he feared his creativity would go grossly under-appreciated. To say that the journey to the Akatsuki hideout was uncomfortable would be an understatement; it was those tense few days that cemented Deidara's searing hatred for the name Itachi Uchiha, and its owner's lofty attitude. Even more than the fact he had so shamelessly undermined his own perfect practice, the Iwa shinobi learned to detest that those rare eyes gave no insight, not even the smallest shred, as to what lurked beneath Itachi's cool exterior. Any gloating of his own glorious exploits, or even casual small-talk made to quell the boredom during rest fell on uncaring ears and the infuriating 'I'm-not-here' stare that would eventually become a daily source of agitation.

Why. Didn't. He. _Care?!_

Granted, while the Uchiha and the menacing shark man had continued wordlessly ahead for much of the way, he at least found common ground with the mysterious Sasori—not that their tastes exactly agreed—and was pleased to find out it was with the puppeteer that he would eventually be paired. That way he could hopefully avoid Itachi as much as possible.

 

But it turned out that, aside from their initial orders to deal with Orochimaru, the grand plans of Akatsuki required further preparation before they could make a further move. For Deidara, this meant being cooped up in the hideout for tedious amounts of time, since his skill set was hardly suited for subtly gathering intel at this stage. That was how, in the months that followed his first mission, he and Itachi found themselves eating meals within sight of each other almost daily, or colliding every so often in one of the hideout's many winding tunnels—or even worse, taking a simultaneous dip in the springs. And every single time such a thing occurred Deidara found himself gritting his teeth in fury at the Uchiha's complete lack of regard for his existence.

Was he not a sought after shinobi whose bloodline limit and unique style had attracted the most powerful renegades of their time? Was his art not an incredible sight to behold? And was he not just an overall delight to be around?

So why did this pasty, bag-eyed fuck seem to think offering nothing but clipped responses was remotely acceptable? He even paid the likes of Hidan more mind than him, and that guy was a complete asshole.

"Hey **Uchiha** ," he said finally with a scowl, pointing his chopsticks at Itachi. They were alone in the dull and functional dining room, the others having finished up and dispersed quite quickly that morning. Defying all expectation, the Uchiha actually deigned to make eye contact with him, darkened lids fluttering open with mild surprise. Deidara didn't realise eyelashes could even be so naturally long and thick—not on a guy, at least. "... Maybe you should have a coffee, hm?"

"No, thank you."

And just like that, the conversation was over. Not that it was one in the first place; a conversation usually comprises of some sort of back-and-forth, and as per usual Deidara may as well have been speaking to one of Sasori's creepy creations fitted with a voice recording for all the response he got. But today the young shinobi didn't feel like letting up. There had to be a way to stir up some semblance of life in this walking statue. The blond leaned back in his seat with a crooked grin.

"Aw, why not? You'd be cuter if you perked up, hm!"

Itachi's gaze remained lowered, but Deidara could have sworn that his lips curved ever so subtly upward.

"So if I understand correctly, you already think I'm somewhat attractive?"

"Um, **not** what I said, yeah?!" He backtracked with another, more accusing jab of his chopsticks in Itachi's direction.

"Alright," he replied, the defeat in his tone not at all convincing. The same couldn't be said for his smile, for that's definitely what it had become—a charming quirk to each side of the Uchiha's cupid's-bow mouth that had Deidara staring in disbelief. The artist inside practically screamed at such a vision, but the only response he gave was a silent gawp. Several minutes passed with no further dialogue, until Itachi finished off the last dregs of his tea.

"I'll see you around."

With that Itachi gathered up his dishes and walked off, leaving an awkward Deidara to follow his exiting back with wide blue eyes.

 

The morning's events found Deidara in his quarters, sculpting away, though his usual simplistic animal designs didn't serve to inspire him at all. The mouth in his palm chewed thoughtfully, and went on chewing until it opened up, the dextrous tongue delivering a softened lump into his fingers which he then spent a further period kneading and rolling. They ended up forming a rounded shape while he fed another, larger piece into his mouth. It tasted familiarly strange, but since inspiration called for a little more detail than he usually afforded his works he deemed it necessary to use a little extra compared to normal. This, once ready, was moulded into the shape of a figure with the aid of several wooden sculpting tools. The iconic cloak skimmed over the general shape of the body simply enough, yet painstaking care went into the carving of elaborate clouds, of long bangs that swept down from the brow... and especially of elegant hands poised in a seal along with the long-lashed eyes and curved mouth adorning the figurine's face. After carefully shaping the dramatic collar and definition of throat and clavicle, he set about smoothing out any rough patches until Itachi's likeness—somewhat cartoonish yet charming all the same—smiled up at him. He laid it gently atop the workbench to dry and left, not allowing himself a moment to ask himself just what the hell he was thinking.

Later he found his roommate poking around in his private studio, the wooden face of the unsettlingly youthful boy (honestly, the fact he was about 30 was just _freakish_ ) somehow showing an expression of deep amusement. This instantly provoked Deidara, because although they both shared their general living area, their private rooms were supposed to be just that.

"And just what's so funny, huh, Sasori? You're **totally** envious of my perfect art, hm!"

Though he sneered, it only took a glance towards his latest creation before he blanched. Following the blond's line of sight, Sasori took the figurine in his hand and scrutinised it closely, as though he were some expert art critic.

"I'd say this is one of your finest, Deidara..." He mused aloud, then shot a knowing smirk up at his partner, who tensed up and started frantically tripping over his tongue.

"Yeah **well**! Well it'll be even finer once I blow up its **smug face** , won't it?"

"Juvenile, as always. When will you see that art is meant to last? That it should be preserved for the enjoyment of its _intended audience_?"

"And just what's **that** supposed to mean, hm??" Deidara was fuming by this point, his cheeks red from both anger and shame.

Sasori just shrugged, then set the model back down on its delicate feet.

"I'm saying that such skill is wasted when nobody gets to really see or treasure it. Is it really a surprise then, that you were never noticed as an artist?"

"Get out! **OUT**."

The puppeteer shrugged again as he followed the trembling finger gesturing him out of the room. Once alone, the blond proceeded to throw himself angrily onto his unmade bed, and he slammed the side of his fist into the wall. The miniature Itachi fell flat on its face but, to add insult to injury, appeared to remain perfectly intact. That's just like him, Deidara thought. Infallible, unbreakable Itachi fucking Uchiha.

"Whatever, hm." He snapped. "You can just lie there on your stupid flawless face!"

 

Frustration having gotten the better of Deidara, he was unable to settle for long; after making a hasty escape from his shared quarters (with the purposeful blanking of Sasori as he did so), the blond shinobi navigated the labyrinth of  deserted tunnels and worked his way upward, emerging from a hidden hatch atop a flat, stone ledge of his making. It was good to get out of that dingy, windowless place every so often. A good view of the sky and surrounding forests could do wonders for one's creative juices.

Blue eyes closed, allowing inspiring visions of explosions to dazzle his mind's eye. Fantastic bursts of red, of gold, of all colours comprehensible came in sparks and flashes and plumes of flame and smoke. Perhaps that was what his art needed, something to really seize his audience's attention and grip them with fear and astonishment!

... Unfortunately, Deidara knew exactly what Sasori had been referring to when he made that comment about being 'noticed'. His sharp brows furrowed. As if the circumstances of his recruitment wasn't enough of an embarrassment, it just had to be his partner who had witnessed firsthand his desperation to have a certain Uchiha recognise his art—not only that, but Sasori had clearly noted the combined devastation and awe with which he'd allowed Itachi's techniques to undo him back then, too, judging by his constant _remarks_.

But how dare Sasori imply that Itachi should be shown his most recent piece, as if he'd even spare a shred of care for it in the first place!

Truth be told, Itachi was just not a creative guy. After restless nights trying to mitigate the injury to his ego, he came to the conclusion that Itachi used his birthright exactly as intended, with apparently no further flair injected where there could be so many possibilities! And Sasori had the gall to suggest _he_ was wasting _his_ potential!

"You'd be cuter if you weren't always scowling over something," came a soft, velvety voice that almost startled Deidara out of his skin. The wide-eyed look he'd initially shot up at the intruder was quickly smothered over with a cocky grin.

"That's an **impossibility** , hm." He flicked his long, blond hair from his shoulders, trying to appear cool. "How did you find this place anyway?"

"Oh... I saw you wandering and was curious... so I followed you up. Sharingan-assisted, to get past your little _traps_. I hope I'm not intruding."

"See, now that's cheating."

Usually Deidara would have flipped his lid when faced with anything related to certain ocular powers, but in honesty he was more concerned with the fact Itachi had decided to follow him. He made no effort to confirm or deny how invasive he found it, so Itachi took it upon himself to get comfortable—not that kneeling so formally with palms rested upon his lap could be classed as comfortable, in Deidara's opinion, but he supposed it was all in his upbringing. Shame he wasn't also brought up to not go off on murderous rampages _just because_.

Knowing Itachi's past, the reason for his exile from the Leaf, was intimidating to even the more dangerous members of Akatsuki. Even Kisame, who was practically legendary for his ruthlessness, showed the Uchiha a healthy measure of respect. It was something about his proper—almost _gentle_ —yet definitely dangerous presence that made one so wary. Even with the relaxed smile Itachi wore, the wind gently tossing up his long, silken tresses like ink streaked loosely across parchment, Deidara couldn't quite determine how he should act.

Nevertheless, this Itachi seemed significantly warmer than the one who had defeated him in practically the blink of an eye.

"You chose a nice spot," said the Uchiha softly, eyelids closed against the light breeze. They seemed always to have a bruised quality about them—presumably through a lack of sleep, Deidara suspected, quite like those deep lines that overly defined his eye sockets. Eventually he cocked his head in agreement, to which Itachi responded, "What has you so frustrated?"

Deidara mulled over the question momentarily.

"A difference in **tastes** , hm. Same shit, different day. I don't see me and that old man agreeing any time soon."

"I see. I think I can understand the merits of both sides... but you're both quite _extreme_."

Deidara returned with a small scoff and a quizzically arched brow. "What do **you** know about my art, huh? It's not like you've ever paid it any mind."

Itachi smiled mysteriously. "Just because I don't go shouting out all my thoughts for the world to hear, doesn't mean I don't _notice_."

Without realising until he felt a prickle, the blond's cheeks flushed. There was definitely some hidden meaning in that tone, but... he must have been imagining it. Itachi was hardly the type to stoop to any sort of... insinuation. But then again, what did he really know about this guy? Perhaps he was simply trying to get him comfortable so that he could humiliate him again. That seemed likely.

"So if I showed you something in my studio now, would you tell me what you think?" Deidara paused, calming his sudden nerves before flashing a cheeky grin. "No shouting necessary, hm."

 

It seemed ridiculous, that having Itachi's full attention could make his heart hammer so forcefully against his ribcage—but after all, it was something he had desired so deeply for the several months since meeting the aloof Uchiha. Sasori was fortunately absent from their quarters when he entered, and from there the blond led his guest into his own quarters. Basically it was a large bedroom, half of which had been transformed into a workshop for his many clay creations; there even lay scattered about some sketches for his next designs, which he hastily gathered and hid away.

The miniature Itachi still lay face-down, and the two shinobi eyed it for a moment. It took a thick swallow and the steeling of his ego for Deidara to pick it up and present it to its 'intended audience', as Sasori had so subtly put it.

"Looks like you broke me," was his verdict. Confused, Deidara turned the figurine in his hand to find that a significant crack marred the smiling face he'd so delicately crafted earlier that day—and the most disturbing thing was, he actually felt a little disappointed. Never had he felt such a way. A broken piece of art just made the fleeting period in which it was whole all the more potent, more beautiful... so why would this now disappoint him?

"I thought that would please y-" A sharp, shattering noise cut him off, causing even the stoic Uchiha to jump as the clay splintered and shot off in all directions. Though Itachi avoided the worst of the shrapnel, several shards struck Deidara across the cheeks and forehead, and his fingers were bloodied as a result of combustion at such close range.

"I- **IT** **DOES**. HM."

Itachi just stood there, staring with what appeared to be genuine confusion.

"What do you _want_ from me?"

" **I** dunno, hm! I want... I want you to acknowledge my art for its brilliance! I want you to be overcome by awe! I want you to **fear** it—no, fear **me**! I want..." He approached the raven-haired shinobi. If it wasn't for his awareness of Itachi's capabilities, he would have reached out and grabbed the silken mane, but as it stood the blond just wrung his hands and fumed redundantly, frustration clearly getting the bettter of him. "... I want to **open you up** , Uchiha, and see what's behind your fucking cool act."

A fleeting look of discomfort twisted Itachi's delicate features before melting away into a mask of cold stoicism, his gentle attitude replaced by that threateningly emotionless presence once more. Deidara suddenly found his fiery temper dampened under the acute sense that he had overstepped some sort of boundary, and he half-expected to wind up lost in another famous genjutsu—or worse, enveloped in black fire. But it seemed Itachi was mulling something over internally, as shown only by the brief darting of dark irises.

"...That is _not_ something you can achieve." replied Itachi with stern finality, then swept out of the room.

 

The following months saw the rift between the two youngest Akatsuki members reopen all the more obviously than before. They rarely even exchanged a glance... at least, not simultaneously. Though he didn't consciously realise it, Deidara watched the Uchiha more and more with each passing day and despaired at the fact his blowing up (in both senses of the word) had somehow severed their tenuous rapport before it even had a chance to fully materialise. To make matters worse, he still didn't know if Itachi had even liked the small statuette, so he had to deal regularly with the artistic conflict presented whenever he felt disappointment at it having been destroyed.

Itachi himself appeared and acted as normal, though various mannerisms that had always been commonplace grew ever more apparent to Deidara. He was _obsessed_ by the elegant way those violet-manicured fingers would curl around his cup, how his lips would purse slightly as he blew cool air over the piping hot tea within. They looked so soft and yielding, especially whenever he exchanged a rare, quiet word with one of their fellow Akatsuki; on the off-chance that one of the others made him smile, the young shinobi would silently fume inside at the fact it was _never_ for him.

Now more than ever, Deidara wished to get closer to the other... but still he had no hope of understanding just why this was such a big deal to him.


	2. Hygroscopic

The morning was young, still largely consumed by night's embrace, though its strength was at that waning point that would soon relinquish to the sun and guide in the day. It almost seemed a shame that it would flourish so beautifully, only for darkness to drag it down once more—but such an eventuality in itself held an intoxicating charm, cruel and chilling as its grip on one's soul may be.

Such thoughts plagued often the mind that witnessed this transition night after restless night.

Since the day he’d come to blows with Akatsuki’s youngest member—it must have been well over a year ago now, his occasional missions away considered—whenever Uchiha Itachi sensed blue eyes boring into him, it seemed to take far more restraint to maintain the stone-cold composure for which he was famed. Incredible, really, when one considered the atrocities he'd both faced and committed in his short life thus far—all of which he'd handled with relative (outward) calm.

And yet somehow he found his skin crawling beneath the mercurial gaze of a shinobi who, based on first impressions, was truly idiotic despite his unique talents. Not only was he idiotic, but abundantly obnoxious, loud and lacking in reason... even so, it was this very same young man who had also blundered centre stage into the Uchiha's focus in the relatively uneventful period since he'd recruited him, even if Itachi himself was silent in his observation.

The day he met Deidara in his secret getaway had really been a turning point from Itachi's initial judgement, a brief lapse in all the tension that had gradually mounted between them—for reasons still unknown to the Uchiha—in which they both seemed to enjoy the other's company. Itachi had witnessed a side to the Iwa shinobi that day, surrounded as they were by nature's delicate beauty and bathed in the afternoon sunlight, that made him positively  _ glow _ . And that wasn’t a term he’d normally use to describe another.

Itachi sighed as he watched the blood orange sun bleed into blue with incredible smatterings of red, pink and gold, almost as though an explosion were taking place in slow motion. The display took his thoughts back to Deidara's art, which normally wouldn't last a day before meeting a visually similar end.

Why had an insignificant crack in a sculpture mortified their newest member so? That was a question that niggled away at him after all this time they’d been evading each other, even during the weeks or months he’d been sent away on missions since the brief but potent dispute.

The most uncomfortable part of the current situation was that every time Itachi caught the blond intensely staring his way, he was transported back to the day they'd met, where he'd been regarded with the awe and fear that a god would expect from a loyal devotee. He hadn't thought much of it back then but now, seeing that same raw feeling reflected in piercing blue each day, and then recalling what happened back in Deidara and Sasori's quarters...

It felt like he was being exposed. Scrutinised. Picked apart.

_ 'I want to open you up.' _

That's what Deidara had said to him in a moment of furious passion that Itachi didn't quite comprehend. Regardless of the intent, what he did understand was that under no circumstances could  **any** member of Akatsuki be allowed to know too much about him or his cause. There was only one soul who knew everything... but that individual, thankfully, remained out of the picture for now. Even so, he had to keep caution and wit by his side at all times.  _ Especially _ in front of Deidara, for whom the Uchiha's cold rejection may have piqued a potentially deadly interest. A  _ fixation _ , even.

There was  _ one goal _ that kept Itachi in Akatsuki—just  **_one_ ** —and he refused to allow anyone to stand in the way.

With the new day finally in full bloom, Itachi rose from where he sat cross-legged on the ground and stretched his entire body upwards in a long, languid motion, hands reaching for the sky. He could tell the weather this day would be mild, and took pleasure in the gentle way the breeze caressed his aching eyelids; it seemed to take with it a small measure of his perpetual exhaustion, replacing tumult with a serene smile.

It was the simple things he was thankful for.

No more than an hour later, Itachi stood amid steam that hung thick in the air, enclosed as the secluded spring of his choosing was. It proved preferable to bathe in this private place than in the communal spring, not only to avoid a certain blond but because the other Akatsuki members could be so  _ tiresome  _ at times. His vision had started to slide in and out of focus as he’d made his way there from the hideout, a worryingly short time since the last occurrence, but he ignored it and continued as though it were nothing. With a sigh, he slipped off his robe. At least  _ here _ , he could pretend it was just the steam.

From his no-longer-so-secret spot atop the cliffs Deidara had a terrific vantage point, which made it quite easy for his sharp eyes to pick up on a distinct movement amongst the trees whilst he engaged in his morning meditation (more like daydreaming).

It was an elegant figure that drew his eye, cloaked in a plain robe that picked up in the breeze behind it, and it travelled in a definite beeline towards the springs. The Iwa shinobi closed his right eye, allowing him to see his target more clearly with the one he'd been training since that first fateful encounter with his Akatsuki rival.

Of course, the figure itself was none other than Itachi. He could tell those graceful movements belonged to him from a passing glance alone, having been consumed by many such details regarding the Uchiha, particularly whenever he was home from longer missions. Other than that, and how  _ great _ his eyesight must have gotten in the few years since vowing to best Itachi, what really struck Deidara was how the Uchiha stumbled every so often or swayed on the spot, sometimes even using a nearby trunk for support.

Though his skills of stealth and espionage were still a  _ work in progress _ , to say the least, the Iwa shinobi followed through on his sudden impulse to be nosy, leaping from rock to rock in a zig-zagging pattern until both feet landed on the springy grass below. Knowing he was still a significant distance from his target, he hopped onto the nearest branch and picked out a route shadowing that which he'd spied from above; even if the trees were fairly sparse in this region, their leafy boughs provided a more substantial shield from wary eyes than if he'd simply followed Itachi on foot.

After several minutes of hopping between branches—with surprising subtlety, he thought proudly to himself—Deidara stopped to close his right eye again, which allowed the left to pick up more easily on the unsteady Uchiha rounding a rocky corner to the springs a relatively short way ahead.

_ Nice. He hadn't been spotted. _

_ However... _ His lack of forethought earlier had yet to bloom into any sort of plan at this stage, slapdash or otherwise  _ (that impulsiveness of his, those lapses in judgement that seemed somehow innate despite Deidara's actually rather sharp mind, caused him such trouble at times). _

It was hardly as if he could just waltz up to his nemesis and ask why he'd looked so faint. Nor could he really hang about and wait—what if he was  _ seen _ ? And also, he hadn't considered the fact Itachi was probably stripping off right now... How creepy would that look, if he was found  _ lurking around _ in the shadows..?

A dull thud against stone, followed by a startled gasp, snapped Deidara out of his inner fretting. It came from the hot springs, from where Itachi had gone, alone. But  _ surely _ nobody would launch an ambush there, of all places? It was still close enough to Akatsuki HQ that their protective jutsu should be in effect… 

Needless to say, the hot-headed shinobi pounced from the branches and sprinted toward the source of the commotion, hands shoved deep in the pouches that housed his precious clay in preparation for the worst… But, when he burst in on the sure-to-be-bloody scene, only Itachi met his gaze (dressed...  _ mostly _ ), though he was propping himself up on the ground where he’d fallen, head cradled in one shaking hand. Deidara immediately halted in his tracks, mouth open but wordless given that this was the most alone they'd been since the last time the accursed Uchiha had undermined his art.

Frankly, he was still  _ fuming _ about that, but there was...  _ something _ . Something about the way eyes dull as slate bore no hint of immediate recognition as they scanned upward, a sort of  _ lost _ look, that dampened his anger. For a fleeting moment, the infamous clan-killer looked  _ vulnerable _ (and gods, was he pretty) ... until, of course, his finely arched brows furrowed in distaste—undoubtedly able to make out the golden hair that gave the Iwa ninja away.

" _ Oh _ … it's only you…" Itachi said, immediately sparking up Deidara's temper. All of a sudden the situation didn't seem  _ quite _ so deserving of compassion.

"You're welcome for making sure there wasn't  _ some bastard _ trying to take you out," he snapped with a tooth-baring snarl. He ejected the emergency clay back into the pouches by his sides, then angrily balled them into fists.

Itachi scoffed quietly in response, as though it were the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard (to Deidara's extreme irritation); even so, as he tried to pick himself up from the hard floor his arms gave way again and he collapsed ungracefully. Deidara tutted, swore under his breath about  _ 'fucking arrogant' _ something or other, then walked over to the heap of Uchiha and crouched down beside him. He scooped Itachi up and dragged him over to a large rock where he could be seated vaguely upright—though, not being the tallest of young men, Deidara only managed this feat with some degree of difficulty.

For a few moments, the Iwa shinobi remained at Itachi's level. He must have just collapsed on his own or  _ something _ \--while getting changed, suspect as it seemed--that was judging by the fact the yukata he normally wore for such morning rituals lay folded neatly nearby, undisturbed by any sort of skirmish.

More distinct to Deidara, since danger at this point seemed unlikely, was the silk ribbon that bound Itachi's long, glossy hair into his signature ponytail, lying in a spiral atop the garments. More notable  _ again _ was the vein-like pattern his hair made, picked out strikingly black against marble flesh in this rare instance of liberation; each inky strand was  _ just _ steam-laden enough to cling to the contours of an artfully sculpted throat, collarbone and chest...

**_Fuck_ ** _ , there it was again! _ The goddamn  _ fixation _ , so painfully stubborn, that always led Deidara’s mind spiralling slowly into... he didn't even know what. But what he did know was that this  _ really wasn't _ the time or the place, slave to some sort of aesthetic obsession or no. Itachi was sick, clearly. And even though he hated his guts, he was too valuable to expose to danger—even if, by rights, it wasn't his fucking problem.

He'd heard more than enough about how vital the ex-Konoha shinobi was for gathering intel and infiltrating his former home unnoticed, so he could only imagine the chewing out he would receive if such an  _ important asset  _ wasn't task-ready.

First things first, Deidara wet a spare bandage using cool water from a skin he carried on him at all times, because sometimes spit alone just didn't cut it for claywork. He folded the cloth, then placed it delicately across Itachi's forehead; this alone was enough to make him stir, so at least it was clear he wasn't  _ completely _ out for the count. Just... weakened, for whatever reason. He took this as a sign it was safe enough to leave the other for a short time, enough only to give the immediate area a quick once over for any signs of suspicious activity.

" **Hey** , Uchiha..." Deidara said upon returning, having found nothing incriminating, and sat cross legged beside the still-resting shinobi. He reached forward and patted his cheek, gently but still enough to make a light slapping sound. It was reaffirmed to him that this incident was caused by something specific to Itachi himself, unbelievable as it was, and though he responded with a twitch at the second (slightly  _ less _ gentle) slap, Itachi still didn't seem lucid. It was frustrating... mostly because he was growing curious, but also thanks to the side helping of awkward tension.

" **_Uchiha_ ** **!** You keep um, going  _ unconscious  _ and stuff, so I'm gonna send a bird back to HQ and— _ woah! _ "

As though sensing some sort of threat in the statement, Itachi seized Deidara's wrist just as he reached for some clay.

"Don't," he stated simply, head rolling to face the other before finally opening his eyes. His eyelids, perma-bruised with sleeplessness, were heavy but awake nonetheless. "I'm  **fine** .”

Something in that look seemed to beg his co-operation, and there was a weariness which Deidara found himself all too terribly aware of, though the feeling it evoked was of an obscure sort to him. Impossible to place. He freed himself of Itachi's grip and shrugged, hiding behind a scowl.

"Fine,  _ whatever _ . It's up to you, mm." He tutted again, then sat. "Doesn't sound like it's too serious anyway. What is it?"

"I've just been feeling tired recently... I was hoping a hot bath would help ease things a little." Onyx eyes looked anywhere that wasn't Deidara, which only pissed him off given how mixed the signals thus far had been. Only the fact Itachi wasn't prying into his own reasons for being here held together his fraying nerves.

"Um...  _ right _ , sorry. I could go, I mean, if you're feeling alright and aren't gonna  _ drown yourself or anything _ , hm!"

"Like I said, I'm fine. But by all means, don't let me stop you from doing what you obviously came here to do..." Mysteriously, Itachi's lips twitched into...  _ was that a smirk??  _ Yeah, even from a slightly shielded profile view it was definitely a little bit devious. More indecipherable signals for the confusing mix ( **_joy_ ** ) and Deidara had no idea how to respond. "Besides... that  _ smell _ is probably what's been getting to me..."

The blond blinked yet more stupidly with mouth slightly agape, while Itachi turned to hide himself biting back a silent laugh. As Deidara clearly struggled to find some retort, Itachi casually tossed the damp bandage at his face, where it soon dropped to the ground with an unceremonious  _ splat!, _ then gingerly stood up. He still swayed a little, but was at least able to rid himself of the remaining one or two garments, which he allowed to pool messily at his now-bare feet.

Deidara's eyes  **_screamed_ ** to follow the path of his now-naked rival—an act of ultimate betrayal to the hatred he swore to—padding towards the steaming hot spring, but luckily only gave in to see Itachi's slender back vanish into the water.

An unnamed force, one that had quietly ached deep within since their last attempt at bonding had gone so wrong, drove the young and impulsive shinobi to seize this opportunity lest it vanish as swiftly and surely as his every creation did. The sudden shift in mood, though surprising in itself, only intensified; after glaring at the back of Itachi's head with eyes full of azure fury bore no effect... Deidara, too, got to his feet and reluctantly disrobed.

Either the cool breeze against his naked flesh, or something he'd yet to identify—or  _ both _ —caused his blood to race as he neared the water's edge, heart ticking away far too audibly for comfort. It was only a small consolation that Deidara caught sight of Itachi's fully-closed eyes as he submerged himself, wincing at the initial feeling of being boiled alive but powering through in order to be concealed by the cloudiness and steam. The Uchiha was silent, yet had an air of  _ amusement _ about him.

**_Not_ ** that it was anything to get too bothered about. It was perfectly normal for Akatsuki members to bathe together at times, Konan exempt (as far as he knew). So there really was no reason to be...  _ self-conscious _ —you know, except for the fact Itachi was...

... Well…

_ Beautiful  _ was the only word for it.

Deidara hated that. He hated how he  **stared** , all. the.  _ time _ . His eyes were so  _ greedy _ for Itachi Uchiha, and it was that that had driven him mad ever since Akatsuki so graciously  _ enlisted  _ him. For so long he'd thought it was all down to that accursed Sharingan and its mysterious power over him, and looking back it was crazy to think that his fixation on overcoming it had driven him not to even  _ speak  _ with Itachi for well over his first year of being a member. He’d been too young to process everything then, and that first row had wounded his youthful ego so much he’d repressed everything and focused on his training. But now, here, seeing dark lashes flutter to reveal only further darkness—no genjutsu, no flames or radiant crimson, just eyes of polished jet—and feeling that same snare-like grip around his throat, reality struck him like a ton of bricks…

A single moment of eye contact. Pale lips parting with the ghost of a question that wanted to take form, but faltered as Deidara drew closer. Hands sliding up throat, caressing jaw and chin and cheeks gently as though handling precious china.

What found him gliding in and pressing up close to the stunned Uchiha was not logic or reason, but undeniable  _ impulse _ ... oh, and it just felt  _ so right _ to be there. It was like being ensnared in some euphoric dream, so perfect did Itachi’s skin feel beneath his fingertips—and already too addictive, for how could such a feared shinobi also be this  _ soft _ , this  _ inviting _ ?

Deidara's eyes were inextricably drawn to Itachi's mouth for fear that looking anywhere else would break this spell before finally, with mutually shaking breaths that mingled for a brief moment in the thick air, their lips melded into one.

Thus he was lost utterly in the taste and feel of Uchiha Itachi, the man who had ignited such seething, bitter hatred in him… and somewhere, amid this overwhelming surge of emotion and in a place he would surely struggle to rediscover ever again, he wondered to himself: had it  _ always _ been a crush at first sight?

  
  



	3. Impasto

What was most surprising, more so than the kiss itself, was the fact Deidara didn’t seem like the type to be tender and gentle. That wasn't to say that the sudden advance didn’t disturb Itachi a little; though he'd always sensed some sort of desire lurking beneath the blond's demented outbursts, and even knowingly teased him a little, he'd hoped such things were his own imagining... or never acted upon.

Feelings for another... just made everything far too complicated, as the Uchiha knew painfully well, and the fact Deidara was still so young and immature was also a little off-putting.

But interestingly enough, despite his shock, Itachi made no effort to fend off the hot-headed ninja in that hesitant moment before they were sealed with a kiss. The truth was, it had been quite some time since he’d actually enjoyed intimacy with another, been touched so gently it both relaxed him and made his skin prickle in the same shivering sensation...

And again, the fact it was Deidara specifically who had this really rather wonderful touch made the whole thing all the more dumbfounding... but actually quite nice. Comforting, even.

Despite this level of mental awareness, Itachi was rather shy in romance and could feel nervousness rendering his limbs wooden. Although, he supposed with inward mirth, Deidara might well be used to that quality in a person, he felt the open-mouthed kiss falter and break off quite suddenly.

The immediate regret in the other was tangible, even before Itachi opened his eyes to see it... But, unbidden by mind or better judgement, the Uchiha maintained their closeness with a tentative touch to the younger shinobi's neck, whose azure eyes were wide as they met with his own. Itachi drew back only marginally, just enough to take a real look at Deidara. Honestly, it wasn't something he'd ever thought to do before, given he could normally  _ hear  _ the blond too much to entertain anything more. 

Any more attention, and Itachi feared the fiery young man would get ideas—but it seemed he'd achieved that without meaning to thus far.

Deidara... he was...  _ pretty _ . Boyish, quite soft in the cheeks, but with a handsome jawline and lips just full enough to give him a constantly pouty look. It suited the attitude.

And his hair—long, golden hair—a feature Itachi had always taken quiet pride in for himself, was without a doubt gorgeous. Even now, with the heat and steam dulling its usual sheen, it flattered his face in just the right places...

... Of course, such thinking was so unnatural to him now that this overly analytical approach to considering a potential...  _ Thing(?) _ ... brought a subtle, self-deprecating smile to his lips, to which Deidara's brows knitted fretfully and both hands flew up to his face with a painful-sounding slap!

"Sh-shit, I'm... oh GOD, such a fucking idiot!"

He berated himself in such a manner and refused to show his face for a good minute or so, with Itachi simply leaning back and watching in silent amusement. Really, he'd not even expressed any anger or mockery... but soon enough, the cursing ebbed away into an odd muffled groan of dread.

"Deidara," Itachi said, to further groans and grumbles, until finally the reeling blond found the courage to peer at him from between his fingers.

"... Mm."

"It’s alright… It was nice..."

Again, silence hung tensely between them as Deidara dragged his fingertips down his face, contorting it in a hilariously cartoonish manner before they dropped into the water with a soft splash.

"R-right. Um." His eyes wanted to look anywhere but Itachi.  "I've, erm... got to go..."

"Wait-" said Itachi as the other made to stand abruptly, not really feeling prepared for a full-frontal view. After a split second of thought he grabbed Deidara's wrists, one in each hand, and gently tugged himself closer so he could press a chaste (but lingering) kiss to his lips. "-Thank you. For taking care of me... That's all."

Itachi smiled and released his hold, then leaned back into the spring once more. As he covered his eyes with both hands in a nod to Deidara's prior panicking, he cracked a smile wider than anyone had seen for a long time while the latter scrambled out of the pool.

There in the springs did the Uchiha remain for some time, appreciating the tension-relieving heat of the steam and water despite how coolly he appeared to have handled Deidara earlier. The same couldn't be said for the latter, of course, given that he'd gotten dressed and fled whilst still sopping wet...

Itachi laughed softly to himself as he gently patted dry his hair and body with the towel he'd brought, though it wasn't lost on him that Deidara clearly hadn't come with the initial intent of bathing. Of course he'd followed him here very deliberately... but given what had just happened, it seemed it was nothing more than a harmless crush the Iwa shinobi had been harbouring towards him all along.

Actually, it was a little unthreatening to him compared to the alternative—that being if Deidara wanted to, say, figure out his true intentions, not just romance him.

Despite the slight bump to the head he'd sustained, Itachi did feel much better as he slipped on his wooden geta and enjoyed a quiet walk back to the hideout. He wondered briefly what Deidara was doing with a smile, he also reminded himself firmly that this situation was still one that required careful handling...

… But so long as his 'rival' didn't find out  _ too  _ much… 

"Why are you soaking wet?" Came Sasori's exasperated drawl as he glanced up at his partner from the puppet piece he was carving. Deidara gritted his teeth; if he allowed his temper to get the best of him after everything that had just happened, he might well explode. And while that definitely wasn't a bad way for him to go, doing so right here wouldn't exactly be anything to write home about.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I fell in a puddle, mm."

"It's dry out."

Deidara made a frustrated growling sound in the back of his throat as he stormed into his small room. Honestly, Sasori pissed him the fuck off, like  _ five hundred _ percent of the time. He didn't even know why they had to work together  **and** live in the same cramped quarters—Pain was obviously more of a sadistic bastard than he'd given him credit for, what with being responsible for this shitty situation.

But being this angry at Sasori as he stripped and flung his sopping clothes to the already messy floor was pretty much just a distraction from Itachi by this point. If it wasn't for the small blessing of agitation, he'd still be beside himself with a sickening combination of confusion, embarrassment and—he hated to admit it—delight.

He flopped on his bed after pulling on a clean pair of cropped pants (a standard-issue Akatsuki pair he'd dyed black), but with nothing to do he found his eyes wandering towards a work-in-progress statuette he'd started sculpting a week or so back, to replace that one he'd blown up. Inevitably this led his mind blundering back into Itachi territory. He recalled the kiss and again hid the blush that bloomed furiously across his cheeks with both hands.

Oh god, did he really **like** it?

Itachi, for all his apparent terrifying murderousness, was actually a pretty soft-spoken guy who didn't say or do things pointlessly. So that could only mean that yes, he  _ did  _ like it. By extension that meant he could maybe also feel things, which actually sounded way scarier than him being the stoic statue he'd grown used to. Deidara touched his fingers to his lips, remembering the delicate peck that Itachi had voluntarily given him.

Man, it felt so nice.  **He** felt so nice...

... What the fuck was this? His heart, a ticking time bomb against his ribs, and a lump in his throat that he couldn't swallow down.

Well  **fuck** .

For most of the day the Iwa shinobi avoided leaving his room, sending Sasori off with a stream of curses every time he tried to inform him he'd yet to eat anything—to which Deidara loudly reaffirmed that he just wasn't hungry, for fuck's sake, and there was no need to be such a  _ parent  _ about it.

Deidara managed to distract himself by sketching and sculpting, mostly, but desperately as he tried to sketch and sculpt anything but Itachi, the Uchiha was pretty much the muse occupying his every channel of creative thought right now. So inevitably the sketches and sculpts started to show subtle elements of Itachi somewhere down the line, which got old fast.

Even though he dreaded the potential for further humiliation, Deidara just wasn't one to keep quiet about things that bothered him. On top of that, months--years, even, though it barely felt that long--of trying to make sense of the mixed messages Itachi had given him since that time they argued was frankly driving him insane. Was it fair for him to have to suffer just because  **someone** wanted to keep being all mysterious?

He didn't think so.

It was probably getting on for nightfall by the time Deidara got himself more adequately dressed for hideout wandering, but luckily there was no sign of Sasori as he peered out of his room. Excellent. Probably off doing whatever it is weird puppet guys do.

Even more fortunate was that he still vaguely remembered the way to Itachi's quarters from the few times he'd been sent to get him. That must have been in the first few months after he was enlisted, when he was young enough to get the most menial tasks, and when 'hostile' was probably an understated way to describe his approach to the Uchiha.

Looking back, his rage seemed so... transparent. He still tried to squash down any tender feelings for Itachi to himself even now, but he could at least say in hindsight he was an idiot not to see that it was  _ attraction  _ that first led to his obsession.

But regardless of his own reservations, it was time to get answers.

It really was annoying that they might be packing up and leaving for pastures new soon, especially after he'd just gotten comfortable enough with their  _ current  _ pasture to know his way around, but even Deidara knew that complaining would achieve nothing. They were all so utterly guilty according to 'decent' shinobi that they had little choice in the matter but to move—not that Deidara had chosen to align himself with Akatsuki in the first place.

On a more positive note, he didn't bump into anyone too bothersome while meandering through the labyrinthine tunnels... except for Konan, who gave him an unsettling smile, and nothing more. Intimidating as she could be, that was one person whose art he could understand. The way her paper constructs split into many thousands of pieces was pretty similar to his own explosions; he could definitely appreciate the appeal of them constantly shifting into new shapes and structures, more elaborate and crazy than the last.

But for a fellow artist, she never seemed up for talking at length about her work. Hadn't she heard of networking? Geez.

Not long after, Deidara found himself at (what he was suddenly paranoid might  _ not  _ be) Itachi's door and, biting his lip nervously, rapped on the solid wood. There wasn't a long wait before it swung open to reveal the Uchiha, whose expression shifted ever so subtly from neutral to something like a smile the moment he identified his visitor. In casual but traditional attire reflective of his clan's noble standing he looked flawless as always, but Deidara had made a point of trying not to be so blundering in his advances this time. He had to at least  _ try  _ not to look like a complete goof.

"Hey. Kisame isn't here, is he?" He asked rather coolly. Itachi's head quirked in confusion, and he replied quizzically:

"No… why would he be?"

"Wait… Are you telling me you don't share quarters with your fuckin'... assigned buddy thing?"

Itachi shook his head bemusedly, and just like that Deidara was fuming. Again.

"Oh my god, that is so. damn.  **unfair** , hm! You have no idea how sick I am of Sasori... does the leader think I need babysitting or something?! I’ve been here for… fuck,  _ three  _ years now. The  _ hell _ ?!"

That tiny, subtle smile of amusement that Deidara had observed so many times teased at Itachi's lips, but rather than angered he found himself calming down as his rival responded with a cute shrug, which seemed like an awfully casual gesture for him. It was certainly better than him voicing anything about the youngest Akatsuki member's maturity levels. That  _ might  _ just set him off again.

"You haven't come here just to shout about the infringement of your personal space and comfort, I hope. Because I really have no say in the matter… "

Deidara snorted and shook his head in reply, arms folded grumpily. He never knew Itachi was a damn comedian.

"I just, y'know. Wanted to talk about erm. Stuff."

"I see. You should come in, then."

Well that was surprisingly easy. If all that moodiness and frost melted away with a simple kiss, perhaps he should have tried  **that** during their first fight--as if he’d have dared to do such a thing at the time.

He entered at Itachi's polite gesturing, seething inwardly at the fact the all-important, spoiled Uchiha got to have basically an apartment the size of his and Sasori's shared quarters combined all to himself. It was a small consolation that the furnishings were generally rudimentary and makeshift with very little softness to them, just like the rest of the team, but even then one could see elements of a classic but minimal style showing through in the placement and functionality of each piece.

"I've got a pot of tea that should be just about brewed," he said upon returning from his small kitchen with an extra cup, signalling for Deidara (who had been taking a good look around at everything) to take a seat where an elegant little table stood low to the floor with woven mats and comfortable looking pillows arranged around it.

Not much for formality, the younger shinobi plopped down on his backside while Itachi exhibited his superior upbringing by kneeling neatly atop the pillow with perfect poise. Even the measured way he poured tea was perfect, for crying out loud, and honestly Deidara was just so tired of always watching and venerating every tiny thing the Uchiha did without knowing how to even process it.

"Do you actually like me?" The blond said after a period laden with tension, which earned him a somewhat nonplussed look.

"I don't dislike you. I never disliked you," he said simply and sipped his tea, while Deidara's cheeks prickled under the threat of a creeping blush.

"Sure, you can  **say** that. But see, you did pretty much blank me for ages, mm."

"Only because loud noises give me a headache, should I pay too much mind to them," Itachi retorted with a smirk that made his eyes squint adorably. “Besides, you seemed eager not to engage me, which gave me even less reason to trouble myself with you.”

"Cold!"

"... But to properly answer your question. I think you're quite charming, despite my reservations." After another sip of tea he opened his eyes to regard Deidara, who in turn was captivated by the deep gunmetal of irises framed by such incredible eyelashes. "... And I still stand by what I said... about liking it—if that's what led you here tonight."

Cup of tea in hands, Deidara had no way to suddenly hide the blush this time—unless he wanted to scald himself and makes a mess, that is. His fingertips whitened around the rim of his cup while staring down into the greenish liquid. What could he even say to that, without injuring his pride even more?

At this point it made no sense not to just go for it, since Itachi himself was being this... open.

"I, uh..." Cool, Deidara. Play it cool, damnit! With a calming breath he placed down the untouched tea and edged a little closer. It wasn't very graceful, and Itachi's arched brow should really have deterred him from treading this path, but he nonetheless laid a hand boldly atop the Uchiha's thigh. Despite the redness of his cheeks, Deidara managed to muster a flirty smile up at the fact there was a brief but very real flutter beneath his touch.

**Victory!**

With newborn confidence he manoeuvred to Itachi's waist just as his cup joined the first with a nervous-sounding clunk!

"Hm. If you could stop sitting like a damn statue, I'll show you..."

Before Itachi could mask his shyness (which was absolutely the most endearing thing ever, by the way), Deidara had already given the gentle pull that saw him slumping into a more sideways kneel, a hand bracing itself by the blond's thigh to prevent them from colliding.

That is, until Deidara himself closed the now narrow space separating them.

Itachi's lips, warm and soft from the fragrant brew, seemed to melt into his own; almost immediately they parted for their tongues to engage with each other, tentatively at first but punctuated with the occasional need to catch a breath. Deidara's hand explored the elegant curve of Itachi's back, the other tracing graceful yet strong arms and shoulders before settling at his jaw. Everything about him was so beautiful it burned. It consumed him utterly... yet he also wished to consume. To attain the unattainable.

He didn't even notice that Itachi's hands were gripping his shirt until they were a tangle on the floor with Deidara lacing worship down the Uchiha's throat, causing him to tug at the garment with an eagerness one would never expect. A clear compensation for the shuddering breaths he could feel being actively stifled with every kiss, and it drove the blond wild to know he had this effect on the other. This was escalating so quickly Deidara could already picture being between Itachi's legs, long and pale, and see in his mind's eye his perfect face melting with pleasure just for him...

That was it. That was why he’d been so desperate to crack Itachi's calm facade—to find out if there was something dwelling within that could possibly return the molten desire that Deidara never knew he himself was capable of.

In the midst of this overwhelming revelation he broke away, needing a moment just to breathe—though his eyes still hungered so for the Uchiha, his Uchiha, that he couldn't tear them away from those gorgeously parted lips and glassy eyes. With a shaking hand Itachi brushed back the messily cascading, golden hair to better see the hot-headed shinobi. It seemed he too was relieved for the lapse in activity... relieved, but still troubled.

"What's wrong? Hn."

"I was about to ask you that."

At that Deidara slowly pulled himself upright.

"Well it's nothing really, mm. I mean I just... I really like kissing you. But I kinda feel like it's stupid because I don't even know you, like not really. And I thought I hated you because you hate my art, and it's been harder to do art lately because I keep getting pissed off about you. But the longer it's been the more I've noticed that it might be more because I uh. Get too distracted thinking about you."

Well, he hadn't intended to word vomit so thoroughly. But it was out in the open, and somehow he'd managed it without shying away from Itachi—who, to be fair, looked far from threatening all sprawled on the floor with his yukata tantalisingly loosened about his chest. That might have been fatally distracting if not for his sombre expression.

"... I shouldn't be doing this..." The Uchiha said finally in the softest of voices, and Deidara thought for a moment that this deadly shinobi, the fear of so many, might actually cry. His face didn't say it, not at all—but his voice, laden with a deep sadness, did.

Now that was confusing, and yet another annoying mystery.

He helped Itachi sit back up, but took hold of his hand before he could start fussing with his rumpled hair or clothes.

"Why shouldn't you? I mean, you seemed to like it... and  _ I'm _ confused as hell, but..." A warm grin bloomed on his still-blushing face. "All I  _ do  _ know is I don't exactly want to stop. And I don't think you do either, 'Tachi. Not really."

Itachi's expression softened, but he clearly still held on to some sort of worry.

"Romance... just isn't in my future, Deidara. I like this but I don't know if I can-"

"Then let's just  _ see _ . It's not like we have to be husbands or anything straight away, mm."

"... Not what I meant." Itachi sighed, but the tiny smile was back at least. "I just don't think I can give you what you want."

"Geez, stop being so serious, Uchiha. All I want right now is to keep kissing you on a casual basis..." he pretended to clear his throat into his curled fist while adding a muffled:  "... _ andseewherethatleads _ ."

Itachi raised a brow as if to say 'in your dreams', but still wore the same inviting smile. And he didn’t stop Deidara from pulling him close and making out with him again, either.

Sadly, good things have to come to an end sooner or later, though it was apparent to Itachi by then that their parting would only be temporary. Further to the renewed kissing they'd both gotten a little adventurous with their hands—only to the extent of sliding tentatively beneath a hemline or two, of course—but more notable was how it only took this brief spell of intimacy for them to suddenly  _ gel _ . And Deidara himself... actually wasn't at all as stupid as he acted. He was funny, if a bit crude, but definitely very witty when he wanted to be.

The fact they started having a playful back-and-forth between kissing made Itachi feel like an idiot for not realising there was something between them all along that no amount of ignoring could have prevented... but again, he wasn't exactly well-attuned to most matters of the heart.

They were eventually interrupted by Kisame, no less, who had some news from the meeting Itachi had skipped due to feeling unwell from lack of sleep. It regarded upcoming plans for espionage in Konoha, as he would soon find out, though first the Uchiha had to make a sudden and panicked scramble for Deidara's visit to appear completely normal before he even answered the stern knocking at his chamber door. The blond, unsubtle as ever, had left looking utterly beside himself with triumph, even going so far as to clap Kisame on the back while telling Itachi he'd see him tomorrow at breakfast.

"So, you gonna tell me what exactly  **that** was?" The shark man said with a sneer once the two were alone, and dropped heavily into the simple couch at Itachi's invitation. "What could that little twerp have done to make you look so tired out?"

"I told you, I'm unwell. There was an incident earlier, then Sasori sent Deidara to me this evening with a message so I invited him in for tea... He was trying to argue with me about art and because I was too tired to care, thinks he succeeded. You know what he's been like..."

"Okay, if you say so. Just Konan said he'd come by this way nearly two hours ago-"

Itachi's eyes flashed and he interjected, "-he must have gotten lost along the way. He was only here little more than an hour."

"Hmph. Alright, good. I just..." Kisame relaxed. "I've seen the way he looks at you."

The Uchiha said nothing, but settled on his work partner's lap and draped his arms around wide shoulders. Though Kisame's hand rested on his hip, he felt nothing in particular; they both knew this was the case, Itachi enjoying the comfort of physical closeness and Kisame simply respecting and admiring his partner… except what Kisame didn't know was that Itachi now had something to compare their own casual affair to.

A real  _ explosion _ .

Oblivious, Kisame trailed kisses up Itachi's exposed chest and throat, lingering for a moment before settling back with a solemn--though not surprised--expression at the lack of response.

"So... about Konoha.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the lengthy waiting time - it was halfway through when I left it and needed a lot of editing before I could even think of finishing it!  
> But here we are, and this has given me ideas for potential other plot threads :)  
> Also it's very late at night so I may need to come back and edit mistakes... I normally spot these things ages after posting T_T
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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